


These moments that make us

by Manchanification



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Darkspawn, Death, F/M, Grief, Oneshot/ Drabble series, Origin Story, Romance, Secrets, The Joining, shortfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manchanification/pseuds/Manchanification
Summary: Part 1 of my new 'The moments that make us' series - chronicling key moments in the relationship between Alistair and Elizabeth Cousland.In which Alistair meets the new Grey Warden recruit





	1. The Cousland Recruit

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the summary, this is the first chapter of a new series of oneshots, drabbles and shortfics, written largely to give more background to the relationship between Alistair and Elizabeth from my main fic 'Hero Worship'. Reading Hero Worship isn't necessary (in case polyamory isn't your thing) as these scenes/stories are written independently of it, mostly well before those events.
> 
> Fic status may be updated in future to reflect more mature scenes, but these chapters will be well marked for their NSFW nature e.g. sex, violence, sensitive topics. Most scenes are intended to be fairly general in rating. 
> 
> Hopefully these scenes will serve to provide a bit more depth to Elizabeth as a character for those of you who've read Hero Worship and for those of you who haven't, hopefully Elizabeth will be of some interest.
> 
> Anyway...
> 
> Please enjoy :)

He notices her from over the mage's shoulder. A shock of short red hair that catches his eye, his attention. She walks with purpose, angling towards them, tucking a jagged strand behind her ear, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. She stops, a few paces behind the man he’s speaking with, setting her hands on her hips before thinking better of it and folding them over her chest. Well fitted leather armour creaks in its newness. She drops her hands to her sides.

It's the sharp tone in the mage's voice, displeased, that draws his attention back to his current task and he refocuses on the other man.

'Yes...I was harassing you by delivering a message,' he counters, watching as the mage's mouth somehow turns into an even deeper frown.

'Your glibness does you no credit.' 

Well, that probably isn’t quite true, he thinks. And besides, in for a copper, in for a sovereign, as they say;

'And here I thought we were getting along so well. I was even going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one.'

'Enough.' The mage sighs. 'I will speak to the woman if I must. Get out of my way fool.' He barges past him without further comment, shoulder shoving against him despite the fact that the man is at least a head shorter and half as broad. 

Apparently, glibness could serve him well. As always.

With the man rapidly disappearing into the distance, Alistair turns his attention to the newcomer, words tumbling from his mouth before he's had a chance to even look at her fully;

'You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.'

Nothing. 

Not a laugh or a smile, barely even an acknowledgement of his words, save for the slightest lifting of her brow. Perhaps he should name his grumpy offspring after her instead. Not that he blames her, of course, most people didn't seem to appreciate his brand of off key humour and he forces a polite smile as silence grows between them, eyes flicking over her.

She's tall, particularly for a woman, only a few inches shorter than himself and he imagines he might be intimidated by such a thing, were it not for the low set of her shoulders and the fact that she looks as though a stiff breeze might break her in two.

Her eyes hold his, a dark grey-blue that seems tinged by her dour mood, and after a moment of contemplation she inhales slowly.

'You're a very strange man.'

Well, that was true enough but...ouch. Blunt much? He shrugs it off. Words are words, and that's better than the stare that she's given him so far.

'You're not the first woman to tell me that.' He attempts another smile, to no avail and he decides to move on quickly. '...we haven't met before, have we?'

'We have not. You must be Alistair.' 

To the point, again, and he doesn't miss the way she seems to pause over his name, as if there is something else to say. Not that there is.

'Yes. And that makes you Duncan's new recruit, I suppose?'

She nods and offers a polite curtsey, a move that leaves him thoroughly surprised until she speaks again.

'Elizabeth Cousland.'

Cousland. The name rings a bell from days spent in Arl Eamon's castle and he realises with a rush of panic that this is a noble he's speaking with. A high bred lady from Highever estate. And if his vague memories served him correctly, that would make her the daughter of a Teyrn. 

She straightens, lips pressing thin for a moment, looking abashed.

'My apologies, Alistair. Just 'Elizabeth' is more appropriate now, I believe.' She nods, brusque in the motion.

Alarm bells ringing, her self-correction suggesting something he didn't know how to approach with a woman he's just met, he smiles, attempting to gloss over the display.

'Glad to meet you.' He clears his throat, aware of a lump that's formed there. 'As the junior member of the order, I'll be accompanying you when you prepare for the joining.'

'I see.'

Back to the short answers, then, he muses and the need to fill the silence presses on him again, prompting him to speak his mind.

'You know...it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?'

Red brows lift a fraction again, the thickness of them a hard contrast with skin that seems too pale, even for her fair complexion. Now that he looks at her fully, he notes the dark circles beneath her eyes, the lines drawn about her mouth, creases worn into her forehead. 

Still, something passes through her eyes at his words, more of a reaction than he'd got from her so far and he can only assume that's a good thing.

'You want more women in the Wardens, do you?'

'Would that be so terrible?' he asks, rushing to correct himself when her brow furrows, 'Not that I'm some drooling lecher or anything...please stop looking at me like that.'

Her eyes have narrowed, and yet there's something in the set of her lips that suggests she's not entirely offended by him.

'So...we are to prepare for this ceremony then?' she asks, guiding him back to safer topics, a move which he's grateful for. It's not a subtle move, but he hardly cares about how much finesse she has in making conversation.

'Ah, yes. Have you met the other recruits, Daveth and Ser Jory?'

'I have.'

'Then we should get back to Duncan and we'll go from there.'

–

The Kocari Wilds gave him the creeps. To be honest, they gave everyone the creeps, if Daveth and Jory's reactions are anything to go by, the two recruits wide-eyed as they make their way deeper into the forest, searching for Darkspawn. Despite being grown men, proficient in the use of their respective weapons, they flinch at every noise and more than once Alistair finds himself having to calm their nerves. He understands, of course, but it's not helpful and he's oddly grateful for Elizabeth's seeming apathy towards the situation. At least it's one less person to have to worry about.

Not that he's not worried, because there's a whole load of something going on with the woman that obviously needs dealing with, but he is not the right person for that job. He'd like to help her but honestly...that isn’t his forte.

He falls in beside her, just far enough away to not be considered invasive, earning himself a cursory glance before she turns her attention back to the surrounding countryside, her bow in hand. It gives him the opportunity he needs to study her, because if he were honest, he's more than a little intrigued by her. 

She's not a fighter, nor much of a rogue, though she's quieter than the rest of their group. Her hands are steady on her bow and her aim is decent, as though she's used to hunting. Her skill with blades is limited too, her moves defensive, rather than offensive, and it strikes him that she may well have only ever been taught to fend off attacks, rather than to make them. She's no soldier, after all, high born as she is, and it would take time to make her an effective member of the order. Time that they don’t have. 

He can, at least, appreciate her composure, particularly in light of their companion's reactions to this forest, and more than once he's suppressed a smile as she's rolled her eyes at the men. 

'We are to retrieve these documents, now that we have our blood samples, yes?' she asks, and he startles, not expecting the question. Her voice still seems like a surprise each time she speaks, a smooth, lowish sound that's cultured by her accent, the careful enunciation of her words.

'Yup. No idea where they are, of course, but we'll keep looking.'

Elizabeth pauses, squinting at something, before extending a hand to gesture at it, off in the distance. 

'There are ruins on that hill. It would stand to reason that they may be there.'

That seems logical and he agrees, calling to Daveth and Jory, indicating for them to change direction. His attention strays back to her as soon as the command is issued, eyes roving over her lithe frame and he has to remind himself not to stare, that even though she’s the first woman any of them have seen in weeks (other than the revered mother and her ladies, of course), it's not appropriate. He's here to make sure they complete their preparations not... ogle her.

Still, her hair is an intriguing shade of red, despite its tangles and ragged edges where it's been sheared without care. He has to remind himself to pull his attention back to the mission in hand, though his eyes still stray to her occasionally. 

The route to the hill is short, though even that distance is punctuated with attacks from Darkspawn, and he's pleased to see that his three charges are more confident in tackling them now, falling into formation as a team. As Elizabeth picks off the slower moving targets at the back of the group, Daveth darts here and there, taking out stragglers and Ser Jory engages the larger hurlocks. It's pleasing to see them working so well together, and he hopes that Duncan will keep them as a unit after their Joining.

If they all survive, of course.

His gaze slides back to Elizabeth, collecting undamaged arrows as Jory fells the last Hurlock, and he hopes, beyond everything, that they all do. 

It won't do to dwell though, and he eases alongside them as they leave the skirmish behind, heading up the hill to the ruins. It's difficult to imagine that it will hold the documents they're looking for, amongst ancient chunks of rubble and virulent undergrowth, until Elizabeth stumbles on a half rotten chest with a hum of satisfaction. She's working the lock before any of them can say anything, deft fingers twisting lockpicks until the ancient lock gives way with a clunk. 

She's quick to open it, tugging the lid up, frowning at the contents before her eyes flick to him.

'They...are not here.'

'What?' Incredulity fills his tone and he strides forward to peer into the chest. 'But they have to be here.'

Of course she's right. There’s nothing within the remains of the chest, and she looks to him, an eyebrow cocked, lips parting to speak when another voice, new, rings out, distracting them;

'Well, well, what have we here?'

They spin in unison at the woman's voice, finding her descending a steep slope of the ruins’ walls, her pace measured, and alarm begins to flare in Alistair's stomach. Not at the woman herself, per say, but the dark, twisted staff on her back.

'Are you a vulture, I wonder, a scavenger poking at a corpse, its bones long since cleaned?'

It occurs to him that she's addressing Elizabeth only, and he looks to the redhead who seems equally enthralled by the approach of the dark haired woman. She doesn't bother to glance back to him, instead taking in the details of the newcomer, though her stance remains relaxed. His own is anything but, he's sure, and he feels his cheeks redden with a blush at the woman's attire, her chest covered only by scraps of cloth, her belly by a swathe of maroon material.

'Or merely an intruder,' she continues, sauntering closer as if there weren't four heavily armed warden recruits before her. He can guess easily enough that she needn't fear, if she's as powerful a mage as she seems to think she is, 'come into Darkspawn filled lands of mine in search of easy pickings?'

The witch stops short of Elizabeth, who’s crossed the small distance towards her, hovering just a few feet away now, though neither of them seems inclined towards violence just yet.

'What say you?' the brunette demands now. 'Scavenger or intruder?'

To her credit, Elizabeth remains at ease, despite the odd woman’s probing questions, and he finds himself impressed by her composure. Just as she had not balked at the forest and its rumours, she appeared unphased, whilst Jory and Daveth all but gibbered about witches. Though to be fair, this woman most definitely is one, and a dangerous one at that, he reckons.

For all the unease in his stomach, he lets the young woman do the talking, something in the way she handles this ‘Morrigan’, as the woman has introduced herself, settling him somewhat. And besides, it seems the witch has little interest in men, her gaze one of heavy disdain as she looks to him, then the other two, taunting them.

‘You fear dark forces will swoop down on you.’ She smirks, amused as though they’re children cowering at fairytales.

‘Yes, swooping is bad,’ he mutters, though he finds his attention pulled to Elizabeth again as she lifts an eyebrow at him. If Morrigan replies, he doesn’t register it, save for a sense of annoyance and revulsion the woman has already managed to instil in him, and he hopes that Elizabeth’s manners and courtly training can get them away from the woman as soon as possible.

Instead, they end up going back to her house.

It’s a novelty. Alistair’s never been invited back to someone’s house before. To be frank, he wishes that it hadn’t started now. Not that he’s been invited back, per say. Elizabeth was the one invited, though the crumbling scrolls that Morrigan’s mother has ‘kept safe’ are laden into his arms. Clearly just an ass, as far as they’re concerned, though Flemeth’s eyes linger on him too long for comfort and he suggests, less than subtly, he’s sure, that it’s about time they get back to Duncan, now that they have everything they need.

\--

The Joining of the new recruits won’t take place until tomorrow evening, Duncan informs them once they return, on account of his having business with King Cailan and General Loghain.

That means free time for them all. Mostly. Elizabeth is directed to see the armourer about getting a set of more suitable armour than the light riding leathers she’s worn so far. If they were to take part in the battle with the Darkspawn, the attire would provide little to no protection. It was unusual for a Warden to get their armour before the joining had taken place, but there would be no time to acquire a set once they had completed it. If they completed it, Alistair muses, looking to the young woman as she nods in understanding at Duncan’s words. His gut twists a little at the thought that she might not. She's so young.

Alright, that was patronising, he chides himself. She can’t be much younger than him, but it would seem such a shame for a young woman, who by all rights should be marrying into a life of luxury, to potentially meet such a sad end. The joining was brutal; he can still remember his own a few months before and the thought almost makes him shudder, viscous blood coating his tongue and throat, choking him. And she seems so sad as it is. To add the ritual on top of whatever it was that she had suffered through…

He offers to go with her to see the armourer, not liking the idea of her being alone. Her Mabari, ‘Bear’, growls a warning as he takes a step towards her. Elizabeth politely declines. There’s no hostility to her tone, just a complete lack of interest in his company. She disappears to attend to her task without another word, leaving him standing with Jory and Daveth.

‘Better luck next time, boy,’ Daveth comments, chuckling, ‘though...it might not be in your best interest.’

He’s not interested in her. Not like that at least. Sure, she’s attractive enough beneath her pallor of world weariness but...well. He just hadn’t thought of her like that. Still, Daveth’s comments irks him.

‘Meaning?’

‘Well, no offence Alistair but a girl like that…she’s out of your league. She needs a dashing rogue to save her from whatever ails her fair heart.’ There’s obvious mockery in his voice, not just of Alistair but of the overly romantic ideal.

‘You’re probably right,’ Alistair concedes with a sigh before glancing to the darker haired man. ‘It’s a pity there aren’t any to be found here, isn’t it?’

He’s stupidly proud of himself for that remark and he makes his escape, to where Duncan tends his weapons, before he can ruin his victory. Behind him, he hears Jory snigger;

‘Round one to the whelp.’

Hiding his grin, he pauses next to his tent, stripping off gloves and pauldrons. Duncan halts in his own task to help him lift the thick steel breastplate over his head. That done, his mentor returns to inspecting his dagger.

It’s as Alistair is finding the buckles of his splintmail coat and fumbling to loosen them that Duncan speaks, his eyes still focused on his blade.

‘Lady Elizabeth has been through her own share of trials recently. It would be in all of your interests not to try...’

‘Me?!’ Alistair interrupts, indignation making his voice squawk. ‘I’m not… I don’t want…’

‘You don’t want…?’ his mentor asks, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement.

‘She’s very...nice looking, I suppose but...it wouldn’t be right of me to think in that regard about her. She’s a lady and a fellow warden not a… barmaid or other... type of woman.’

‘I’m glad you can make that distinction,’ Duncan jests, sliding his dagger back into its sheath and standing. ‘I will be in audience with the king and his general for the rest of the evening, as I said. See to it that we have no interruptions on our end.’

‘Yes, ser.’

‘And do not feel the need to defend the lady’s honour too much. If she was not capable of defending herself, I wouldn’t have brought her here.’

‘That I can believe,’ he murmurs and Duncan sends him a warning glance before making for the royal pavilion. Moments after he’s left, Jory and Daveth join him in their small camp.

‘So,’ he claps his hands together, kicking at the remains of the fire, ‘dinner for three then?’

\--

Elizabeth rejoins them sometime later, without armour, he notices, and his enquiry is met with a brief explanation that the nearest sized armour they had for her was simply too large. The armourer would adjust it as best he could before the oncoming battle and she would have to make do with it.

‘I suspect belts will be in order, if I am not to drown in it,’ she comments, filling the empty spot on the log that Alistair sits on, though he can’t help but notice she sits as far from him as is possible.

Trying not to let his confusion show, he reaches towards the fire, picking up the bowl of stew they had portioned for her and offering it to her. She takes it and the spoon with a quiet ‘thank you’ before lifting an eyebrow as she looks down at the meal. Technically, it is a stew, although ‘slop’ might be a more accurate description. He flushes at her scrutiny of the meal.

‘Ah…’ he chuckles nervously, ‘I’m not the best cook but if I got points for effort it would be the best thing you’ve ever eaten.’

As if noticing that her reaction is not entirely polite, Elizabeth schools her expression into something more neutral.

‘My apologies, Alistair. I am certain it is quite delicious. I am simply not used to eating anything so…’

‘Grey?’ Daveth supplies, helpfully.

‘Rustic,’ she finishes, ignoring Daveth’s comment and spooning a delicate portion into her mouth. Somehow, she manages to look only a little offended by its taste.

‘Fair play, lady, you’ve got a stronger stomach than me and Jory.’

Alistair stabs a spoon into his own slop, shovelling it into his mouth before he has a chance to say something stupid.

‘So, Elizabeth, how have you ended up as a recruit?’ Ser Jory asks, saving Alistair from further embarrassment. 

She looks up, surprise passing over her face for a moment before she answers.

‘I would rather not speak of it, if you do not mind.’

‘Oh come on,’ Dabeth cajoles, ‘it can’t be that bad. I was gonna be strung up for being a thief and Duncan stopped ‘em. Conscripted me right in. Can’t be worse than that, can it?’

Elizabeth looks somewhat disdainful at Daveth’s admission, as does Jory, though she does her best to gloss over it.

‘I believe it is. I am not used to sharing my affairs with those I am not well acquainted with and for the moment, I do not see any reason to change that.’

The thief snorts, clearly offended.

‘We’re all equal now, lovey. No need to act so high and mighty.’

He’s technically right, of course. Whatever life Elizabeth has had before, it isn’t relevant anymore. 

‘I mean no offence. We are all Wardens - or at least, in a position to become Wardens. I would not seek to cause friction with you Daveth, but I would rather not discuss the matter.’

The thief lifts an eyebrow, clearly not believing the woman’s sincerity, but he drops the subject for now, turning back to his bowl of grey stew. Alistair feels the tension in his shoulders ease, and glances over to Elizabeth. The young woman’s attention is focused solely on eating, but he spots the slight tremor in her hand all the same. 

Curiosity tugs at him. He wants to know what’s quietened this girl as much as Daveth but he won’t push her on it. Everyone has their secrets, their pasts that they’d rather not share.

They eat in silence, broken only the sounds of scraping of spoons on bowls, the rip and tear of chunks of bread being devoured, and skinfuls of wine being swallowed noisily. Elizabeth takes the longest to finish. He’s not sure whether it’s just her manners, or whether it’s intentional. There’s something about watching her lift delicate spoonfuls of cooling slop to her lips that makes him want to protect her. Not that he’d be very good at it, he’s sure. And not that she seems to need it much.

‘So, where’s everyone from then? Shall we have a group chat, get to know each other a little better?’ Daveth asks with forced cheer. 

Alistair resists the urge to roll his eyes. The man just won’t quit.

‘I’m from Denerim myself. Ser Jory, you’re from Redcliffe, right?’

‘Yes,’ Jory replies, before gathering up bowls.

‘Well there we go. Alistair, how bout you?’

‘Let’s just leave the chat and play something. You have a pack of cards, right?’ Alistair suggests, irritation gnawing at his chest as he tries to get the other man to let the subject go.

‘I do. Sounds like a good idea.’ Daveth turns back to rummage in his pack, pulling out a dog-eared deck. The suggestion of a game and the appearance of the deck is enough to make Jory stop in his task, perhaps sensing that this would be enough to break the tension between them all.

‘Have you heard of Wicked Grace, Elizabeth? Or strip Jack naked? Perhaps ‘snap’ may be more your cup of tea though.’

Ah. Perhaps not. In a few moments Ser Jory returns to collecting bowls and Elizabeth is on her feet.

‘I have, as it happens, Daveth. I am not as naive or coddled as you seem to think I am. The only thing you have been correct in so far in your assessment of my person is that I am, in fact, a woman, and a Grey Warden recruit. As you said yourself, we are all equal now. Perhaps you’d like to consider that before making inappropriate suggestions.’

‘All right, all right, no need to get shirty, love. Was just a suggestion.’

‘Perhaps suggesting a game that does not involve nudity would be more appropriate among your colleagues.’

Daveth snorts.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. Skinny thing like you?’

‘If I am not to your tastes, then perhaps you might like to find someone else to warm your bed for the evening. Ser Jory looks as though he could use a cuddle.’

Statement made, Elizabeth turns and Alistair can only watch as leather skirts flap in a flurry of movement as she stalks towards her tent. The Mabari growls and snorts, just once, before trotting after her.

‘High born bitch.’

‘Was that necessary?’ Alistair asks Daveth who glares after the woman. Jory, cheeks burning a bright red, ducks off with the dirty dishes. 

‘Did you hear what she…?’

‘Yes, Daveth I heard what she insinuated. I also heard you pushing her about things she doesn’t want to share. She’s been through something. Leave her be. And just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean you have to…’ he halts, hoping that the heat he can feel building in his cheeks doesn’t show.

‘Because she’s a girl I don’t have to…?’

‘...ask her to…’

‘What? Share her bed? Come on, she’s the first woman we’ve seen in weeks, what was I going to do? Moon after her with puppy eyes?’

‘The first step would be not calling her unattractive, Daveth.’

The voice comes from behind them, Duncan having returned from his meeting early and Alistair feels his spine stiffen. Would he be disappointed with how he had handled that?

‘The second would be to recognise that your attention is unwanted and leave the girl be. The Wardens have a duty to uphold and we cannot be distracted.’

The Warden Commander sends a glower in Daveth’s direction as the thief makes to speak. Wisely, he snaps his mouth closed.

‘I suggest you retire. There will be much to do tomorrow.’ His dark gaze turns on Alistair and he feels himself swallow thickly. ‘You too, Alistair.’

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

\--

Alistair’s heart pounds in his chest as he watches the sunset over Ostagar.

Under the golden light, the three new recruits shuffle, restless, nervous, as Duncan turns to face them, chalice in hand. Even Elizabeth seems anxious, her apathy subverted by the severity of what lies before her.

He hates this bit, and the next few minutes to come; his heart goes out the the three of them. His throat tightens at the memory, fingers twitching at his side, until Duncan’s voice cuts through;

‘We speak only a few words prior to the joining, but these words have been said since the first. Alistair, if you would.’

The words come to him easily, despite having only heard them spoken a few times before, and he bows his head as he speaks; 

‘Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day, we shall join you.’

Words spoken, he lifts his head to look at those around him, faces drawn with anxiety and solemnity as Duncan lifts the chalice, offering it first to Daveth. The thief takes it, only a suggestion of hesitation in the twitch of his fingers as they close around the stem of the chalice, lifting it to his lips and knocking back his dose, before handing the cup back to Duncan.

It doesn’t take long for the effects of the taint to make itself known, Daveth’s breath coming short as he hunches, clutching at his stomach. Within a few seconds he’s on his knees, pained grunts escalating into screams. 

‘I am sorry, Daveth,’ Duncan murmurs, and Alistair knows how true those words are, quiet sorrow etched into Duncan’s dark features.

Daveth’s screams begin to fade, drowned out by gasps and gurgles. He’s gripping at his own throat, fingertips white as they press against the sinew of his neck. A few more attempts at catching his breath and Daveth goes limp, his body hitting the floor with a thud. He doesn’t move again and Alistair feels his stomach twist, an ache forming in his chest. He hadn’t liked the man, but he had hoped that he might survive, nevertheless.

‘Step forward, Jory.’

Again, Duncan’s voice breaks through his thoughts and he looks to his mentor as the man moves swiftly on. The other man, larger than Duncan, is already grabbing for the broadsword on his back, eyes wide and face pale.

‘N...no. I have a wife, a child. Had I known…’

‘There is no turning back.' Duncan warns, still approach the other man, chalice proffered.

‘No, you ask too much.’

Alistair slides his hand to the hilt of his sword, moving as quietly as he can to where Jory is attempting to retreat to, cutting off his escape. Guilt claws at him for doing so, but he knows it’s necessary.

‘There is no glory in this!’

Duncan doesn’t hesitate to draw his dagger, a brief warning to the knight. Jory ignores it, desperate now as he swings his broadsword. It’s clumsy in close quarters, its reach too much to be helpful, and Duncan bats it aside, plunging his blade through the other man’s gut as he drives him into the wall behind him.

Jory gasps, shocked.

‘I am sorry,’ Duncan releases the man, and he collapses to the floor, gripping at the wound in his stomach to no avail, ‘but the Joining must yet complete.’

Alistair feels more than sees Duncan’s attention swing to Elizabeth and his stomach knots as his gaze falls upon the young woman who stares aghast at Jory’s corpse.

Duncan moves on, as always, chalice pressing into her hands. She takes it, fingers clumsy, head bowed.

‘You were called upon to submit yourself to the taint,’ he reminds her, his voice calm and she meets the Warden-Commander’s eyes before lifting the chalice to her lips, taking a large gulp of the liquid. ‘For the greater good.’

She manages to hand the chalice back to Duncan, wiping a dark smear of blood from her mouth onto her sleeve and Alistair backs away.

‘From this moment on you are a Grey Warden.’

It’s difficult to know whether the words have any meaning to her, for Elizabeth’s body has already turned rigid, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her gaze, still blue for the moment, fades to an unfocused glaze, her skin turning an alarming shade of grey.

His heart thuds in his chest. Not her as well. He doesn’t know how to face the idea that they might have lost all three of them. There’s a part of him that begs to reach out to her, to call her back from the brink on which she’s teetering, but he knows how futile that would be. The joining requires one’s own strength, and must be endured.

Minutes crawl by, and still she stands, motionless, unseeing, the only suggestion she’s still fighting is in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, in the pain and fear that flashes across her face.

He looks to Duncan, who only continues to watch Elizabeth, his face calm despite his rapt attention.

It’s with a sudden gasp that the decision is made, a cry torn from Elizabeth’s choked throat and she stumbles, falls, so quickly that he doesn’t have time to react, to catch her. Her body hits the floor with a dull thud, her head making a heavy crack. He winces, hisses through clenched teeth as she lies motionless.

‘Check for a pulse, Alistair,’ Duncan instructs, his voice only just breaking the quiet around them. The army, the oncoming battle, seems so far away right now.

‘You think…?’ His incredulity colours his voice as he watched Duncan walk away to begin cleaning up the evidence of the ritual.

‘Just check.’

He scurries to Elizabeth’s prone body, watching for a moment. There’s no expression on her face, no colour in her cheeks, but he thinks that he sees her chest rise with a shallow breath. Trying to push down false hope, he presses two fingers to her pulse point. Her skin is cool, but beneath his fingertips, her pulse jolts, erratic, but there.

‘Duncan!’

The older warden turns at the sound of his name, a thick eyebrow arching.

‘She’s alive!’

He doesn’t bother to keep the joy out of his voice, and Duncan smiles faintly, returning to his recruits.

‘I had a feeling she might. I am glad.’ He pauses, scrubbing at his beard for a moment. ‘Keep watch over her until she wakes. I have some matters to attend to.’

His mentor disappears again and Alistair tries not to think about Jory and Daveth’s bodies being given to the pyre, opting instead to find a blanket and covering Elizabeth with it. It would likely be a few hours before she wakes again, and he settles next to her, waiting. Heart calming from its heavy beat, he smiles to himself, pleased the woman had survived. Whatever she was made of, it was sturdy stuff, the kind of strength they would need to see them through the next few nights, and perhaps beyond that.

It’s as Duncan returns from his tasks that Elizabeth shifts, beginning to awaken, and he shuffles to his feet, eager to greet her as a fellow Warden. Whatever happens next, he has a feeling that they are meant to do it together. Some part of him, he thinks, is even looking forward to it.


	2. The Junior Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth reflects on her her fellow warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally i had planned for these to be shortfics (one or two chapter each) to make up the 'The moments that make us' series, but for the sake of grouping/organising, I've decided that all the events of origins will take place as various chapters under this fic. Events beyond origins (married life etc.) will be under a new fic and title, in various chapters, and as part 2 of the series. 
> 
> Also when I say 'shortfics' I mean my version of shortfics, which will almost always be longer than I intend them to be. Because I don't know how to end things or skip irrelevant details. A bit like this chapter note really...
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Alistair, Elizabeth finds, is an odd fellow. 

It becomes apparent within mere moments of meeting him, the first few minutes of their interaction characterised by his alarming ability to flick through a range of emotions that she hasn’t felt for weeks.

He uses humour as a shield, darting between bitingly dry to utterly silly, his demeanour flicking from that of a disciplined soldier to a coy and, perhaps even naive, young man. He blushes more often than not, cheeks nearly perpetually red, especially at the ribald comments that Daveth had made.

It’s difficult to get a handle on him, to pin down just who he is; authoritative in the field, borderline skittish around the campfire.

When she awakes after the joining, his expression is particularly serious, his brow pinched with concern, lips turned down. Light springs into his eyes as he notices her waking, and she struggles upright under the weight of the heavy blanket he’s draped over her.

She feels cold, shivering despite the blanket, her throat sore and scratchy, temples throbbing, low and insistent. It takes a moment for her to realise that Duncan, crouched beside Alistair, is speaking to her.

‘It is finished,’ he assures her, grasping her hand and tugging her to her feet. When she stumbles, Alistair reaches out, gripping her shoulder to steady her, offering her a tentative smile.

She nods, appreciating the gesture, though she can’t find it in herself to return it just yet.

‘You should rest,’ Duncan suggests and she nods again, mind sluggish. She can still see the archdemon, its’ blank white eyes fixed upon her, and it sends a shiver down her spine. Alistair’s hand squeezes at her shoulder and she takes his meaning, wrapping the blanket tighter around herself and turning back towards the camp.

Her legs shake as she walks, threatening to give out. She has the vague sensation that Alistair is walking with her, hovering in case she collapses. But she won’t, if only by sheer will. She’s come this far, lost her family, watched her life be turned upside down, everything she knew gone in a few hours. This...this at least was something she could control, her own body. Even if that’s all she had.

The walk from the ramparts of the fortress to her tent isn’t a long one, but it’s a relief when she finally sees her tent. Bear barks at her approach, loud and excited as he barrels forwards to welcome her and Elizabeth grips at his fur as he jumps up at her, massive paws planted firmly on her shoulders as he nuzzles at her face.

‘Yes my dear, I’m back, I’m safe.’ 

Her words are muffled against the thick muscle of his neck, and he whines softly before dropping back onto all fours. 

‘Come now, we’re all safe.’ She scratches between his ears until he seems more settled before crawling into her tent.

She can feel Alistair lingering outside. Bear growls at the shadow his broad figure casts against the side of her tent.

‘Alright, alright, point taken!’ His silhouette disappears rapidly and Elizabeth feels a smile creep onto her face.

With a satisfied snort, Bear sits, staring dutifully at the entrance to her tent, and Elizabeth knows that she’ll be safe for tonight, whatever the morrow brings.

\--

Elizabeth wakes late the next day from a fitful sleep, berating herself for letting the sun climb so high into the sky before she rises. Bear still stands guard, though as soon as he notices her waking he dashes out of her tent. The loud curses that sound from nearby soldiers let her know that he’s relieving himself a little too close to them and she shakes her head as she crawls from the tent.

‘Morning, sleepy head!’ Alistair grins at her from where he’s dismantling tents. She tries not to dwell on the fact that they had once been Daveth and Jory’s. Alistair appears to share her thoughts on it, his grin fading for a minute before he dusts himself off and hops to his feet to approach her.

‘Here, Duncan said to give you this.’

He holds out his palm, a silver pendant on a chain cradled in it. At first she wonders if it’s some kind of odd gesture on his part, until he explains;

‘It’s Darkspawn blood, to remind us of the oath we took, and the sacrifices we made to take it.’

As she takes the pendant from his palm she inspects it, noting a ring of dried blood around the stopper. 

‘Do all wardens have these?’ she asks, pausing before she loops it around her neck. The metal sits cold against the skin of her chest.

Alistair nods, wedging his fingers into the neck of his armour before tugging out a chain, the same as that which she now wears.

‘Well, we’re all brothers and sisters in arms now.’ He grins, before tucking the pendant away and gesturing towards the dying fire. ‘Anyway, you should eat something, it’s going to be a long day.’

She nods, feeling her stomach grumble at the mention of food, more hungry than she could ever recall being before and she all but tears into the cooked rabbit that waits for her. As she finishes her meal, Duncan appears and within a few moments he’s assigned her a list of tasks to perform until they were due to assemble for battle later that evening.

Her day is spent, in short, preparing for the forthcoming battle. She retrieves her armour, now somewhat more fitted, sharpens her knives and restrings her bow. Before she realises, evening has arrived and she falls into step beside Alistair as they make to meet with Duncan. There’s an odd sense of calm in the disassembled camp, soldiers making their way to their ranks, purpose suppressing nerves. For now, at least. Even Bear is quiet at her side as they find Duncan, deep in discussion with General Loghain and King Cailan. 

The conversation is not a happy one. As gallant as Cailan attempts to be, he is still young, still impetuous and although his position gives him the right, Elizabeth has to stop herself from wincing as he berates General Loghain with a sharp reminder of ‘who is king’. King or not, the man should still show deference to his elders, particularly a renowned warrior such as Loghain.

Still, she thanks him cordially as protocol demands when he congratulates her on becoming a warden. It quickly devolves into another argument about the role and trustworthiness of the wardens, ending in herself and Alistair being assigned the task of lighting the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. Hardly a fitting task for their rank, she thinks.

Alistair apparently shares her thoughts on the subject and is expressing them to Duncan as soon as they’re out of earshot of the king and his entourage.

‘This is by the king’s personal request, Alistair,’ Duncan chides, though his voice is soft as he does so. It speaks of fondness between them.

‘So he needs two grey wardens standing up there just in case?’

‘With respect, Ser Duncan, I would agree with Alistair. Is it not somewhat...beneath our abilities?’

‘Elizabeth, we have spoken of this. I am no ‘ser’. And nevertheless, it is not your choice. If King Cailan wishes Grey Wardens to ensure that the beacon is lit, then Grey Wardens shall be there. We must do whatever it takes to destroy the darkspawn, exciting or no.’

Alistair’s shoulders slump as he shakes his head, and Elizabeth shares in his disappointment. She wishes for something to take her mind off...everything. Standing and watching a fire burn would not suffice.

‘I get it, I get it.’ Alistair sighs, then smirks. ‘Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I’m drawing the line, Darkspawn or no.’

It’s a peculiar idea, one so out of place in their situation that Elizabeth feels her lips curl slightly, a smile in her voice as she speaks without thinking;

‘I think I’d like to see that.’

Alistair turns to her, eyebrows lifting in surprise for a second, amber eyes warm with amusement.

‘For you, maybe. But it has to be a pretty dress.’

The groan that follows from Duncan, weary of Alistair’s wit, brings another smile to her lips and she stifles it, reminding herself of her position, her duty. But the lightness in her chest remains, a whisper that she might belong here after all, that perhaps she has a future among this clandestine order. It gives her hope despite the impending battle and as they bid Duncan good luck and goodbye for the eve, invoking the Maker to guide them all to victory.

\--

The best laid plans oft went awry. 

In the case of the hastily, poorly conceived plan King Cailan had for the battle, it seemed doubly true.

Elizabeth perches on the edge of a small cot, deep in the Korcari Wilds, her head throbbing as Morrigan explains all that has occurred whilst she’s been unconscious. The last thing she recalls is killing an ogre at the top of the Tower of Ishal after finding it overrun with Darkspawn. She had hoped the signal had not come too late.

‘You mean to say that...they are all gone? The Grey Wardens, King Cailan...Duncan?’

‘The only ones who left that battlefield were the general and his men. Those he abandoned were massacred.’

Elizabeth grimaces, running a hand through the short, tangled strands of her hair. She had known that Loghain had not been happy with the plan, that he distrusted Duncan, but she’d not thought his concern so strong to deviate from the plan. To leave the king to die…

It was treason, in short. Loghain was a general, a servant of the crown. No matter his thoughts on the situation, it was his duty to defend his king with his life.

He would need to be brought to justice.

‘Your friend,’ Morrigan interrupts her thoughts, ‘he is not taking it well.’

‘My friend? You mean Alistair?’

‘The suspicious dim-witted one who was with you before, yes.’

Relief that he has survived warms her chest.

‘Where is he?’ Elizabeth asks, staggering to her feet, realising for the first time that she has been stripped. Morrigan gestures to a pile of clothing, clean and dry, though not Elizabeth’s own, and she dresses herself as the woman answers her;

‘He is outside, by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke.’

Ah, Flemeth. Morrigan had mentioned when Elizabeth had first awoken that it had been the crone who had rescued her from the top of the tower. How, she wasn’t sure, but it hardly matters for now.

She winces as she pulls on an undershirt, pulling laces about the waist to cinch it against her skin, the wound in her shoulder burning as she does. She’s still not entirely used to dressing by herself, despite the fact it had been weeks since she had servants to help her. Her fingers fumble with the laces as she ties them, but she manages it at last.

‘Is Alistair well?’ she wonders aloud as she tugs on soft breeches. Presumably he was not badly injured if he was sitting outside but she did not like the thought of him being wounded, nor upset.

‘He...is as you are,’ Morrigan answers after a moment of thought. ‘I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish.’

That brings a frown to her lips, wondering if Morrigan would think Elizabeth herself childish for having wept over the death of her parents. She bites her lip though, not wishing to offend the people who’d gone out of their way to help them.

‘I had best see your mother then.’

‘As you wish. I will stay and make something to eat.’

She leaves Morrigan to her task, finding Flemeth and Alistair outside, as Morrigan had said. The later is staring out into the water that all but surrounds the cottage, his back to her.

Flemeth looks to Elizabeth as she steps out of the cottage.

‘See?’ she comments, pulling Alistair’s attention to her. ‘Here is your fellow Grey Warden. You worry too much, young man.’

He spins at her words, eyes falling on Elizabeth as he does and the relief that spreads over his face.

‘Y...you’re alive! I thought for sure that you were dead.’

He hurries to her, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her into an almost crushing hug. She hisses under the pressure, her injured shoulder aching in response. He jerks away, eyes apologetic.

‘Only because of Morrigan’s mother, it seems.’

He nods, scratching his arm absentmindedly.

‘It doesn’t seem real. If it wasn’t for her we’d be dead on top of that tower’. He meets Elizabeth’s eyes again, soft amber shimmering as he blinks away his grief. ‘They’re all gone. Duncan...the king…’

‘I know, Alistair,’ She reaches out to squeeze at his shoulder in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. It surprised her to see him so affected, assuming someone who had been inducted into the Wardens to be more resilient to such things. Perhaps she had misjudged their calibre? Or perhaps Alistair is simply more emotionally volatile than she had first realised. 

‘We must turn our attention to more important matters, however.’ Elizabeth asserts. 

He jolts, eyes widening, a mixture of anger and grief crossing his face.

She understands, she had felt the same way when Duncan had pulled her away from her parents. There had been so much anger, resentment and grief roiling in her system she hadn’t quite known how to express herself, and so she had simply shut every emotion down until the pain had began to ebb. Which was only recently.

Alistair grimaces, anger winning out as he glares at her until Flemeth’s voice cuts through the tension between them.

‘We are all sorry for your Duncan, lad. But your grief must come later, in the dark shadows before your vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now.’ Flemeth weighs in, her voice not unkind.

Broad shoulders drop as her words seem to reach him and he smiles wanly at Elizabeth, a silent apology.

‘It has always been the Grey Wardens’ duty to unite the land against the Blight,’ She continues. ‘Or did that change when I wasn’t looking?’

‘But we were fighting the Darkspawn! The king had nearly defeated them! Why would Loghain do this?!’ Alistair protests, his anger renewed, but redirected now.

‘Now that is a good question,’ Flemeth replies, her voice sombre. ‘Men’s hearts hold shadows deeper than any tainted creature. Perhaps he believes the Blight is an army he can outmanoeuvre. Perhaps he cannot see that the evil behind it is the true threat.’

‘The Archdemon,’ Alistair murmurs, and Flemeth nods.

She bids them sit as Morrigan appears with the food she had been preparing. It gives them time to straighten their thoughts, understand what needs to be done, and by the time they finish eating, they have a plan.

They would head to Lothering first to gather the supplies they would need for a much longer journey. From there they would seek aid from Arl Eamon of Redcliffe with a view to gaining the troops they would need to take on the Archdemon’s horde. It seems like an impossible task, even with Morrigan set to accompany them, much to Alistair’s and Morrigan’s own disapproval. As Elizabeth thinks it through, she can almost feel the weight of responsibility pressing on her shoulders.

But then, it isn’t as though they have any choice.

They agree to move out immediately, no time to waste, and Alistair helps her buckle into her armour before they return to the camp to gather what supplies they can for the journey. They manage to retrieve three tents, sifting through the debris left at the edge of their camp, no heart to venture any further in. 

Morrigan does so instead, unconcerned by the sombre air the empty camp seems to have gained since last night.

Left alone with Alistair, she glances over to him. His mouth is set into thin line as he blinks rapidly. It’s all too easy to feel his grief and she takes a breath, trying not to let her thoughts drift back to her parents.

‘Alistair.’

He startles at the sound of his name being called, trying to hide the welling tears. She bites her lip.

‘Do you...want to talk about Duncan?’

Surprise colours his face, seeming to dispel his grief somewhat, as if he expects her not to care. After a moment, he shakes his head.

‘You don’t have to do that. I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.’

‘You seem fond of him. You thought of him as a father, did you not?’

His lip trembles until he takes a breath to steady himself.

‘I should have handled it better. Duncan warned me right from the beginning that this could happen,’ he takes a breath, ‘any of us could die in battle. I shouldn’t have lost it, not when so much is riding on us. Not with the Blight and...and...everything.’ He sighs. ‘I’m sorry.’

She understands, of course she does, the sudden overwhelming sense of loss, stability and familiarity stolen from them.

‘You have nothing to apologise for, Alistair.’

He smiles faintly, a tug at the corner of his lips.

‘I’d like to have a proper funeral for him. Maybe once all this is done. I don’t think he had any family to speak of.’

‘He had you.’

That seems to cheer him some.

‘I suppose he did. It probably sounds stupid but part of me wishes I was in the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.’

‘I understand.’ 

‘Of course I’d be dead then, wouldn’t I? It’s not like that would make him any happier.’ His eyes scan the ground before him. ‘I think he came from Highever. Maybe I’ll go up there sometime, put up something in his honour, I don’t know.’

She smiles tightly at the mention of her home, half wanting to bluntly inform him of the state of the place, but not having the heart to do so.

His eyes flick to her, soft.

‘Do...have you lost someone close to you? I don’t mean to pry but…’

She doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want the pity that comes with revealing such things, but she feels compelled to tell him. It seemed like they would be together for a while yet, it would make sense to get to know him better.

‘I…I know something of it.’

‘I...see. Recently?’

She averts her gaze from his.

‘Recently enough. My family...except perhaps my brother. He was supposed to be here. If he was…’

‘Maker, Elizabeth, I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to ask, I…’ His shoulders slump. ‘I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.’

She smiles thinly.

‘It’s fine, Alistair. It is a fact I must come to terms with, as we all must.’

He nods, face grim, but his eyes soften when they land upon her again.

‘Thank you, really. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.’

‘I...would like to accompany you, if you decide to return to Highever. There are many who need to be honoured.’

‘Then we’ll go together. But first...we need to save the land, right?’

She nods.

‘Indeed.’

He smiles, then returns to his task, slinging his pack over his shoulder just as Morrigan returns.

‘I suggest we make haste away from here. You would not wish to see what is happening in that valley.’ Morrigan advises.

Elizabeth nods;

‘Then we make for Lothering.’

She calls Bear back to her as they angle into the forest, away from the tower, in the hopes of circumnavigating the darkspawn. With a plan in place and others to help her, she at least feels that there might be some good that they can do.

And perhaps Alistair might just prove to be the key to moving past her own grief too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, lovely people. 
> 
> As always, kudos, comments, bookmarks, subscriptions and constructive criticism are massively appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I'm always grateful for anyone who takes the time out of their day to read my 'work' and even more so for those of you who manage to get to the end of it.
> 
> Kudos, comments and constructive criticism are always greatly appreciated.
> 
> And I'm still loitering on [ tumblr ](http://cinnamonsweetrolls.tumblr.com/>) for anyone interested in seeing snippets between chapter posts, or generally saying hi etc.


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